Never Say Die
by Speakfire
Summary: Four times that John McClane didn't give up and one time that he did. Rated T for harsh language, spoilers for Die Hard 4.0
1. Chapter 1

"Never Say Die"

Four times that John McClane didn't give up, and one time that he did.

A/N This has been rattling around in my head for a while, and I finally made the time to write it. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: Die Hard and the characters therein belong to 20th century fox and a lot of people I am not. This story is purely for entertainment, and I am making no profit. Please don't sue me.

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The car shook violently when bullets riddled the body, made a coughing noise, and then the hood flew off as the engine burst into flames.

McClane tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he calmly observed, "Ok. Car's on fire. That can't be good."

Travelling forward now from sheer momentum, the FBI squad car careened through the tunnel toward the daylight at the end, where the helicopter awaited. McClane opened the door, leaned over and swallowed down fear as the ground flew past under him.

He glanced forward again, considered his options, and grimly said to himself, "Oh, this is a bad fuckin' idea." Then he hurled himself from the vehicle, landing painfully hard and rolling, rolling until his back slammed into another car (luckily this one had already stopped) and he came to bone-jarring halt.

His flaming car continued on, hit a tollbooth gator and then leaped eagerly into the air to collide with the helicopter. A violent explosion ensued, spraying scraps of metal, shards of glass, and bits of terrorist out in every direction.

McClane laughed at the destruction he'd caused.


	2. Chapter 2

The Asian woman spun, performing a reverse side kick that hit him squarely in the chest and sent him flying backward through the glass window overlooking the plant. He dropped like a stone, twisting in midair, trying to find something—anything to break his fall. His chest hit a large ventilation duct, knocking the wind out of him as he tried to grab at it, but his body weight caused the thin metal to crumple and give before he flipped back and down again.

When McClane hit something again, it was softer but not by much. A thick wad of tarp bunched underneath his back, sent him rolling off the flatbed truck and down to the pavement, where he landed painfully hard. Again.

Wincing, John looked around. He seemed to be in the lot for company vehicles, which consisted of a fleet of Ford Explorer SUVs emblazed with the blue logo of the power company. The cavernous entrance to the employee parking garage loomed near, and was close enough to the main structure of the building he'd just been ejected from that the concrete pillars probably helped support the framework.

He staggered to his feet, making his way past the dead bodies of security guards, and got into one of the Explorers, starting it up and heading for the parking garage. John floored it, and as the ramp spiraled upward, the centrifugal force pressed hard on him, pushing him against the door.

As he arrived at the fourth floor of the parking deck, instead of turning the steering wheel to continue up the deck ramp, he went straight, over the concrete curb, crashing into the side of the building, tearing through desks, walls, and glass divider panels. A large room opened ahead of him, and he smiled as he saw the kid and the Asian kung-fu bitch up ahead of him, standing in front of the control center work station. Her eyes widened as she realized his intent an instant before the SUV hit her full speed, knocking her up onto the hood.

"How ya doin'?" John shouted at her cheerfully as they drove through another wall.


	3. Chapter 3

Matt and the Warlock furiously worked on accessing the servers and routers as McClane bantered with Thomas Gabriel about the terrorist's rapidly declining supply of henchmen.

But a chill suddenly swept through the room and John went from lazily lounging in the chair to a cold homicidal fury in a matter of seconds. "Can she hear me?" he asked them, his gaze fixed on the screen in front of him where a beautiful dark-haired girl was on the phone, talking with Gabriel. "Hey," he said more insistently, and Matt came around to see what was going on. "Can she hear this? Lucy, hang up the phone," he ordered, but she gave no indication she could hear him.

Through out the numerous shoot outs, flying and falling vehicles, near death experiences and everything else, John McClane had managed to keep that slight quirk of lips, that dry wit Matt knew he'd never be able to have when facing death or destruction. That was gone now. Farrell had no idea who the girl was, but judging from McClane's reaction she was clearly something more than a random hostage Gabriel had picked on a whim.

"In the meantime, is there anyone you would like us to contact for you, Ms. Gennero?" Gabriel was asking the girl.

She hesitated for a moment before responding, "Yeah. My dad. His name is John McClane. He's a New York City cop."

Matt's eyebrows raised in surprise at that revelation and he glanced from the monitor to John's face, which was set in stone, watching, listening as Gabriel was now the one doing the taunting. Thomas Gabriel never said the words out loud, but his insinuation was still the same. Play nice, Detective McClane, or you're going to lose something you value a lot more than the creature comforts that money, power and communications services can provide.

John wordlessly turned away, stalking purposefully out the Warlock's 'command center' to the beater of a car he drove. He flung the door open as Matt tried to catch up.

"McClane! Wait, hold up, hold on," Farrell breathlessly called to the enraged cop. "Wha…where are you going? What are you going to do?" Personally Matt didn't see that the older man had a lot of options to choose from. After all, Gabriel had his daughter as collateral to keep him under control.

But control was clearly the last thing on John McClane's mind as he grimly listed the only options he was willing to choose from. "I'm gonna go kill this motherfucker and then get my daughter back. Or get my daughter back and kill this motherfucker."


	4. Chapter 4

Against his best efforts, the events of the past 48 hours had just about caught up with McClane. It was the gunshot wound that was the kicker, of course. Lack of sleep, food, bumps, bruises, cuts, scrapes, even cracked ribs he could make himself ignore. But the bullet had been a direct hit to his shoulder, and he could feel the blood running down his back where it had exited. His eyes glazed over as he fought to remain conscious.

"Stay with me," Gabriel ordered, pressing the steel of the gun barrel to McClane's head, but the injured man was already slumping. "McClane!" he shouted, and moved the gun from John's temple to the bullet wound, pushing the barrel hard into the hole there, twisting the weapon to make it even more painful.

John's pain receptors overloaded, jolting him back to awareness and he gritted his teeth, eyes closed, grunting in agony.

"Stay with me," Thomas directed again, emphasizing each word by giving a slight poke against the bloody shoulder. "On your tombstone, it should read: Always in the wrong place at the wrong time," the terrorist said into John's ear.

Eyes open, his face taut with determination, McClane rasped out his own suggestion as he grabbed at the gun, not to pull it away as Gabriel expected, but instead to pull the trigger, shooting himself. "How about, 'Yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker!'"


	5. Chapter 5

Lucy watched her father slowly approach the ambulance, taking note of the slight smile on his face and couldn't resist asking, "So, uh… did he say anything about me?" giving a nonchalant shrug as though she didn't really care what the answer was, but her eyes were bright and curious. She resembled her father in many ways, and of course that would include her tendency to say what she was thinking, regardless of poor timing.

Grimacing, John gave her a sidelong glance then shook his head. "Jesus, Lucy…" he muttered, climbing slowly into the ambulance.

"What? I'm just asking…" Lucy said, trying to look innocent and failing miserably while she followed him inside the vehicle and settled beside him on the rack.

McClane winced and tried to get comfortable seating on the hard metal surface. "I'm enough pain already," he reminded her dryly.

She grinned impishly at him as the vehicle doors shut, and then the vehicle started moving. Lucy started to lean against her father's shoulder, but his quick and pained intake of breath reminded her she was on the side he'd been shot. "Sorry," she said apologetically, and quickly moved to the opposite side as he lifted his good arm to embrace her.

Lucy rested her head on his shoulder, the way she'd done so many times over the past 20 years, and they sighed in unison, each taking comfort in the presence of the other. It was so strange, she thought to herself, how no one in the world could infuriate her as much or as quickly as her father could… but at the same time, no one in the world could make her feel safer than he did either.

After a few minutes of that, she leaned forward slightly to check that Matt Farrell's ambulance was still behind theirs.

"Lucy," John sighed patiently, "we're going to the same hospital. I'm sure the driver's made the trip a hundred times in the past, he's not going to get lost along the way."

Flushing guiltily and looking at her father, Lucy protested, "I wasn't…" but her words stopped at his raised eyebrow. This was one of many times she wished his cop lie-detector was on the fritz.

"Sorry," she finally said, biting her lip as she rested her head on his shoulder again, so she wouldn't have to meet his eyes as she spoke. "He held out for as long as he could, you know. After he put in that encryption program that stopped them from being able to get their money? They were threatening him and stuff, and he still said he couldn't do it."

McClane shifted slightly, his arm hugging her closer to him. "I know, baby. He's a pretty good kid," he acknowledged with grudging respect.

Lucy knew that was high praise indeed, coming from her father. Respect was never freely given by John McClane. It had to be earned. Add that to the long list of thing she had in common with her father.

"Even after Gabriel shot him in the leg, Matt still wasn't going to decode the files for them." Lucy finally divulged the information that her father didn't know, that he hadn't been to the warehouse in time to witness. "He only gave in when Gabriel pretended to shoot me." Her voice cracked at that last part, and she closed her eyes as they started burning with tears, at the memory of that gun being so close and going off right over her head, the panic in Matt's eyes when he jerked his head up thinking he'd gotten her killed by resisting their demands. She drew in a ragged breath and continued, "That's why he was going to do it. Not to save himself, but to save me."

A few tears escaped her eyes, and Lucy hurriedly wiped them off her face with furious swipes of hand, sniffling. Crying always made her feel weak, like she had no control over her surroundings, like things were happening to her and she was just a helpless observer, watching the world crumble around her. It's why she cried so rarely. Maybe that part of her was from her mom. Certainly, she couldn't imagine her dad crying and feeling helpless, no matter what the circumstances.

"Oh, Lucy…" John used both arms to hug her, gritting his teeth through the pain of the movement, but not caring, not when it came to reassuring his baby girl that everything was going to be alright.

They sat silence the rest of the way to the hospital, and as the ambulance slowed to a stop at the ER entrance, John tightened his grip around his daughter's shoulder and heaved a long sigh of surrender. "If you two end up going out, you know…dating... I promise not to spy on you. Not if you go out with him, anyway."


End file.
